New Zealand - Reginald Horsley

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rejoicing.

      Not many captives were taken in war as a general rule; but, if a man's life were spared, he became a slave. Save that such a man lost all social status, and was set to tasks to which he had been unaccustomed, his lot was not necessarily very hard. He might, perhaps, be exchanged for some captive taken by his own tribe; but, having once become a slave, he usually preferred to remain one; for he was treated with rough kindness and consideration. Curiously enough, if he returned to his own tribe, he was invariably slighted because of the experience it had been his misfortune to undergo.

      Peace ratified, preparations were made for returning home and, as they had left their village with ceremony, so the victors marched into it again with all the pomp and circumstance of war.

      Some few paces in front of the column a single Maori banged lustily with a heavy stick upon a very small drum, while immediately in his rear another evoked a succession of jerky notes from a flute formed from a human thigh-bone. Next in order marched a grim company, who bore aloft upon rough-hewn pikes the severed heads of foemen. Close behind this grisly vanguard stalked, with heads erect and dignified bearing, the "Fighting Chiefs," their stern, Roman faces heavily scored with records of their valour, and after them strode the Captain-general, "pride in his port, defiance in his eye," a very "lord of human-kind" as he "passed by." Behind the great leader swaggered the warriors, marching not in step, but with a firm tread and swinging gait, impressive enough. Last of all, laden with spoil, or carrying the arms of their masters, the tutua and slaves brought up the rear.

      As the army came within sight of the village, the men broke into a roaring chorus anent the land of their birth, that dearly loved land which they fondly prophesied would be theirs till the end of time.

      The battle-scarred veteran who has led them in so many victorious campaigns turns at the sound, and with a single proud gesture indicates the village. It is enough. The buglers blow discordant blasts, the garrison yell shrilly, and with a thunderous roar of triumph the impatient warriors surge forward, breast the slope and charge furiously into the marae. They have returned victorious; they are once more at peace—and at home.

      Note.—The Maori science of defensive warfare in their pa is dealt with in Part III.

      Victors in the fight

      FOOTNOTES:

       Table of Contents

      [48] An ornament in the form of an image. Regarded as a most valuable heirloom and, probably, as a talisman.

      PART II

      THE COMING OF THE PAKEHA

      CHAPTER VII

      THE DUTCHMAN'S LOSS

      I

      It wanted a couple of hours to sunset. All the way from the rim of the world the blue Pacific waves heaved slumberously towards the shore, thundered against the iron rocks, and rolled lazily eastwards into the gathering night. The long cloud-shadows chased one another across the fern, the silver-winged gulls circled the blue bay, ready to chorus a harsh "good-night," and the sinking sun, flinging a challenge to the coming darkness, set the sky ablaze.

      Night, swift, inexorable, was not far away; there would be no moon, and the Patupaiarehe, imps of evil, wander in the dark in search of mischief. Luckless the Maori who walks through forest glade or over fern-clad hill when they flit on their wicked way.

      So, lest they should be caught by the tricksy sprites, the Maori, who were chatting in the marae, rose to disperse. Suddenly, one who had been looking carelessly about him, uttered a loud yell.

      "He! He!" he cried. "Titira! Titira!" (Look! Look!).

      The clamour which followed brought the chief—a splendid figure in his kaitaka and coronet of huia plumes. Hurried question and excited answer gave him the reason of the commotion, and he, too, looked out to sea.

      A cry escaped him. Amazement, incredulity, fear were in the tone. "A whale with white wings![51] What can it mean? It is magic or——"

      He broke off, staring at his men. His lips were trembling, his eyes round. Great chief though he was, fear wrapped him as a garment.

      None answered. Some looked under their lids at the oncoming Thing; some fastened their gaze upon the chief, and every man there muttered a karakia, if so he might avert impending doom.

      On came the marvel, growing ever more distinct, and upon the polished decks the astounded Maori could see beings who looked like men, though their outward seeming was strangely different from any men whom the Sons of Maui had ever encountered.

      Then a voice was heard, calling something in a strange, harsh tongue. A whistle shrilled; a score or so of the odd forms raced from end to end of what the bewildered Maori now decided must be a canoe of some sort, and with magical swiftness the "white wings" collapsed and lay folded upon the long spars. Another call, a loud, rattling noise, something fell with a mighty splash into the sea, and the mysterious vessel came to rest.

      

      One minute of tense silence. Then a scream went up from the watching Maori.

      The strangely garbed forms were human. But their faces! Their faces were white!

      In the extremity of their terror the Maori fled into their whare and covered their heads. It was now only too plain that the Patupaiarehe were abroad upon that awful night of nights.

      Yet worse was to come upon the morrow.

      II

      On the 14th of August, 1642, the distinguished circumnavigator, Abel Janssen Tasman, left Batavia in his yacht Heemskirk with a fly-boat, Zeehaen (Sea-hen), dancing in his wake, to investigate the polar continent which Schouten and Le Maire, his countrymen, claimed to have found, and which they had named Staaten Land. It was on the 13th of December in the same year that, after discovering Tasmania, the commodore came one radiant evening within long sight of what he calls a "high, mountainous country."

      This was the west coast of the Middle Island, then for the first time seen by the eyes of white men, or so it is reasonable to believe; for the claims made by France and Spain to priority of discovery are based upon wholly insufficient grounds.

      A few days later Tasman cast anchor in the bay to the west of that bay which bears his name, and at whose south-eastern extremity the town of Nelson now flourishes. Tasman himself gave a name to the bay in which he anchored, but not until he was about to leave it. A glance at the map will make it clear that both of these bays wash the northern shore of the Middle Island, Te Wai Pounamou, "The Waters of Greenstone."

      III

      The sun had not yet set when Tasman's anchors splashed into the bay and the sight of the strange white faces sent the Maori scurrying into their whare. An hour must elapse before the long-lingering day faded into night, and an hour is time and to spare for brave men to recover their confidence, however badly their nerves have been shaken. So it came about that, before nightfall, the chief and his warriors issued from their whare,

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